


Season of Mists

by Beleriandings



Series: Tales of Lake Mithrim [14]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cross-cultural, F/F, Get-Together Fic, Noldorin-Sindarin politics and chill, Supportive Siblings, lots of headcanon and worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7874470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon their people would be leaving, to go their separate ways, and Lalwen and Elenniel's lives would both change. There are so many reasons they could have drifted apart.</p><p>But, as it happened, they didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Season of Mists

The cold draft rattled the timber shutters of the window, making Lalwen shiver even amidst the piled furs of her bed. As she did, the sleepy mass of silver hair that was all she could see of Elenniel stirred beneath the bedding and snuggled closer to her. Lalwen smiled, letting her eyes fall closed again as Elenniel rolled over and she felt the soft warmth of her stomach press closer against Lalwen’s back, a hand, its motion still heavy with sleep, slipping about her waist. Elenniel was very warm, always, except for her feet, which had apparently been protruding from out of the bottom of the piled blankets and furs; Lalwen gave a sharp little involuntary gasp as cold toes brushed her ankle.

“Ah!” Elenniel woke suddenly behind her, sitting up with a start and looking down at Lalwen. “What? What time is it? What happened?”

Lalwen couldn’t help but laugh as Elenniel’s sleepy eyes regarded her in consternation, mussed silver hair trailing down to tickle her face. Lalwen brushed it gently behind Elenniel’s ear. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you” she said. “It was the cold feet, you see. Startled me a little, that’s all.”

Elenniel tilted her head. “You… you didn’t have one of those dreams again, did you? The ones of… of the Ice.”

A slight chill swept through Lalwen’s sleepy calm at the mere mention of such things, but she pushed it back easily enough, shaking her head with a gentle smile. “No, nothing like that” she said. “I don’t really get those that much, these last few weeks. And they’re definitely getting fewer.” She laughed. "No, this time it really was your cold feet, actually.”

Elenniel laughed too, falling back onto her side of the bed amongst the furs, nearly disappearing back beneath them again. “Oh dear. I’m sorry.”

It was Lalwen who sat up this time, drawing back the furs from beneath Elenniel’s chin. “Don’t be.” Elenniel’s eyes were squeezed closed, but they flicked open as Lalwen brushed her cheek with the backs of her fingers, silver lashes bright against brown freckled cheeks.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” asked Elenniel, staring back up at her.

Lalwen frowned, making a face. “Like what?”

“Something like…” Elenniel blushed slightly. “I don’t know. Never mind.”

 _Like I want to tell you I love you but I don’t know how_ , Lalwen thought to herself, ruefully. But Elenniel was already getting up, extricating herself gently from Lalwen’s embrace with a soft, playful kiss to her nose.

“Leaving so soon?”

Elenniel turned back to look at her, and Lalwen felt a pang at the regret in her eyes, mirroring her own. “You know I have to” said Elenniel. “If it gets about amongst my people that their High Lord’s eldest daughter has been spending nights in the bed of the Lady of the Golodhrim they’ll be calling it a betrayal by the next turn of the moon… or worse, they’ll surely begin plotting rebellion, as they did in my grandfather’s time.”

“Their High Lady” said Lalwen, trying to distract Elenniel from what they both knew to be true.

“…What?”

“You’re High Lady now. Not the High Lord’s daughter. Don’t let them call you anything other.”

Elenniel’s face fell, making Lalwen’s heart twist. “Yes, thank you for reminding me of my father’s death” said Elenniel quietly, leaning down to pick up her shift from where it had been flung to the floor the night before, slipping it over her head. She stood with her back turned, so that Lalwen couldn’t see her face, but when she turned she looked aggrieved.

“No, no, El… that’s not what I meant…” Lalwen wanted to bite her tongue, wishing she hadn’t spoken at all. “I’m sorry, I…”

“I know” said Elenniel with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I know you didn’t mean it, I know what you too lost…” she took a deep breath. “I know you’re trying to make me feel stronger.” She looked in Lalwen’s eyes, and Lalwen felt her heart contract with how beautiful Elenniel was, all over again, her deep brown skin with its clusters of freckles, her unbraided hair tumbling wild and silver-bright over her shoulders. “I… I do appreciate it, you know.” She came close and took Lalwen’s chin in her hand, kissing her gently on the lips, before drawing back with a sign, continuing to dress. “But you also know why I have to go.”

It was not a question, and Lalwen nodded in agreement. “I know.”

All too soon, Elenniel had slipped from the room and out of the camp of the house of Fingolfin into the cold morning air to rejoin her people, and Lalwen was left alone.

* * *

“Galineth!” Elenniel threw her hands up in despair that was not wholly exaggerated. “Stars above, what are you doing? Why aren’t you getting ready for the festival, hmm?”

“It’s too cold” grumbled her sister. “And I thought it should be obvious what I’m doing… I’m reading.” She was indeed reading a large and heavy tome, wrapped in several layers of warm fur, ensconced in a chair surrounded by a large stack books, a tiny oil burner and a teapot at her side. There was also one of the lampstones that the Golodhrim had brought over the sea, Elenniel noticed, its clear blue-white light illuminating the pages of the book her sister was reading better than candlelight even could.

Not that it was necessary though; it was still mid-morning, and though the new light in the sky was dim today, filtering pale grey through heavy clouds, it was certainly enough to read by. _Galineth just likes the lampstones_ , thought Elenniel. _She’s growing up half a child of the Golodhrim. Not that I’m one to talk; this morning I woke up in bed with their high lord’s sister._ She wondered, briefly, if her father would be upset at any of that, if he were to find out.

But surely now, after their people had found shelter and safety in their allowance with these wondrous strangers from across the sea, he could not fault them. They had been fleeing for their lives from their burning villages when they had encountered the Golodhrim, and been saved by them. From then on they had built their alliances and their fortifications together.

Besides, the need for the protection of the Golodhrim and their bright, strong steel had even done what her father had always tried to do, but never quite been able to achieve, thought Elenniel with grim humour; it had bound the many clans and factions of the Mithrim people together, if only in an uneasy alliance born of grief and the need to survive. At least her people - those who had survived the attacks on their villages and farmsteads by the orcs of the North - seemed to understand that they must leave off fighting amongst themselves if they wanted aid and alliance from the Golodhrim king.

Still, those bonds were fragile, and Elenniel knew it. Some had already broken, swathes of them going over to the other side of the lake, where Lalwen’s accursed nephews had their fortifications.

Still, the majority of them were still here on this side of the lake, and under her rule. _For now at least_. She thought of the festival that was to come today. She remembered such things from when she was much younger, and though times had been far from calm then - the orcs came even then, occasionally, in wandering bands that picked off children, and there were always divisions and disputes between the clans - the memories seemed bright with starlight and the smell of incense and woodsmoke, her own child’s excitement as her mother braided shining green and red ribbons into her hair, and silver bells that would catch the firelight and tinkle as she danced.

Now, she would not be wearing a child’s bells or even the soft woven veils and complicated knotted braids of the High Lord’s true heir, grown to adulthood; no, she would be wearing the robes and belt of a High Lady herself, a mantle she had embroidered with her own hands from what patterns she remembered of her father’s, lost in the burning of their village.

Elenniel sighed, brought back suddenly to the present. She picked up the hairbrush that lay on the table, waving it threateningly. “Galineth, come here. How long has it been since you brushed your hair?”

Galineth shut her book with a snap, tugging on one of her short, silver curls with distaste. “Just since this morning, I’ll have you know. It just goes straight back to looking like this. It’s not my fault it’s not naturally pretty and shiny like yours.”

“It’s plenty pretty” said Elenniel gently. “Here, let me braid it for you, and help you with your bells.” Galineth was still young enough to wear a child’s ribbons and bells. Though not for long, Elenniel realised; in a few short years her sister would be an adult, and Elenniel’s heir too, as things stood.

Galineth gave an audible sigh, marked her place slowly and deliberately with a strip of leather, and laid the book aside. "Alright. Do your worst.”

Elenniel took up the brush, humming as she gently tugged the brush through Galineth’s curls, then divided it for braiding, taking up the ribbons from the table and weaving them in one by one. Her hair was short, but not too short to braid, and the motion alone brought Elenniel comfort.

“I don’t see why I have to wear the bells” said Galineth. “They sound them make is too loud.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. It’s irritating too, when you’re trying to have a serious conversation.”

Elenniel smiled faintly. “You know, when I was your age, I didn’t like to wear the bells in my hair because it made it harder to sneak away from mother and father.”

Galineth laughed. "I can hardly believe that. You? Perfect Elenniel, sneaking off? Too implausible.”

Elenniel grinned. ”Thank you, I know I’m perfect" she dodged Galineth’s swipe at her head with a ribbon, all the while trying not to tug her hair too much. She hesitated, before smiling in recollection. “It was to sneak off after a girl I liked, actually. She was older and had all three sons of Lord Laeros after her hand in marriage, and was very much enjoying stringing them all along by the looks of it. And she didn’t see a little girl like me that way, so even though I was the daughter of the High Lord, I was much too timid to tell her what I felt back them. So I was out of luck, and spent the rest of the evening moping, begging sips of blackberry wine from Melinduilas and her brothers and contemplating my tragic fate.”

Galineth laughed, a sound which cheered Elenniel in and of itself. “Yes, that sounds more like you.” Elenniel had finished placing the bells in her hair now, so she shook her head and made them ring. “Well, luckily I am not planning on sneaking off on any such romantic excursions of misery tonight.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Elenniel felt suddenly curious. “Don’t you have anyone you like?”

Galineth made a face. “Not like _that_. Besides, there’s hardly time! Did you know that Prince Turgon said that scholars of their people will be coming to our festival to research…” she put on a fair impression of the accent with which the Golodhrim spoke, Elenniel thought, “… “ _local traditions”_? They seem rather silly, some of them, but still I mean to tell them all I can about our people, so I can ask about theirs. I’m going to write down all my findings. It’s so exciting! Oh, and I’ve invited Lady Idril to come along too. We’re friends, you know. But she’s never eaten a mulberry star cake, can you believe that? The poor thing, she’s missed out on so much across the sea.”

Elenniel laughed. ”Alright, I can see you have plans… ah, hold still! Do you _want_ to stab yourself with a pin?” said Elenniel, beginning to pin Galineth’s shawls at one shoulder as her sister squirmed, then settled. “Just make sure you do the Observances correctly beforehand. It’ll be a hard year, we need all the luck we can get, not to mention harvests. Also, all the other clan heads have their eyes on me, and on you.” She grimaced. “So please, try not to drop your taper when you light your incense, or light your shawl on fire, or any such thing. And don’t go bothering anyone with questions if they clearly want you to go away.”

“Hey, I would never do that!” protested Galineth. She turned around to Elenniel, giving her a worryingly knowing smile. “Besides, I don’t think I’m the only one who needs to be reminded to be a credit to our house. What’s that you said about sneaking off all lovesick, hmm?”

Elenniel felt herself blush. “That was years ago.”

“Oh? There’s no chance of it ever, _ever_ happening again then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.“

"Oh please. Everyone knows about you and Lady Lalwen.” Galineth grinned. “So, how’re you going to use this to our advantage?”

“How am I going to… what?” Elenniel frowned. _The clan leaders already think I’m too close to the Golodhrim’s noble family; they do not trust me to make a settlement that will get us protection, while allowing us autonomy. They fear that alliance and protection will slip into allegiance, if this carries on. And perhaps they fear rightly_. “I don’t see how it could be used to our advantage, honestly.”

Galineth shrugged. “Alright. But it’s clear enough to _everyone_ how much you love her.”

Said so casually like that, it made Elenniel splutter. “I don’t…” she tailed off.   _Do I? Do I love her?_ She gritted her teeth and swivelled Galineth’s body away from her to work studiously on doing up the belt bow at the back, with a little more force than necessary. At least then she could avoid looking at her sister’s grin, which was far too smug and knowing for Elenniel’s liking. Also, it meant Galineth couldn’t see her blush. “None of that now” she managed to stammer. “Come, get your furs, it’ll be cold outside in the night.”

* * *

“The problem isn’t that I don’t know how I _feel_ ” said Lalwen, throwing her hands in the air. The festival was long over, but she had found herself unable to look away from Elenniel all night, the gleam of the torchlight on her silver hair as she had knelt in solemn prayer and lit her incense during the Observances, the sound of her voice as she had said the words and the flash of the silver embroidery on her mantle as she had danced with the other Mithrim lords and ladies afterwards, ever drawing Lalwen’s eye from where she stood amongst the Ñoldor, a little way off. Afterwards Elenniel had left to put Galineth to bed, but Lalwen knew she wouldn’t see her tonight in any case; there was to be the traditional vigil of the Mithrim lords and ladies, and of those Elenniel held the highest position, so she must stay with them under the stars all night until morning came.

Lalwen, though, had had to return to her own camp, with her own people. Her brother was the only one left who had not yet retired to bed, and he poured her a stoneware mug of hot, spiced wine, pressing it firmly into her hands. She clutched it close, thankful for the mere action of holding onto _something_ , taking a fortifying sip before continuing. “The problem is that I… I know that I love her…" she choked a little on that, “…sorry, that was the first time I’ve said it out loud. I _know_ I love her. This isn’t like how it was with anyone else, this is… I don’t know. Anyway. I want to _tell_ her, because I think she feels the same - I’m almost certain she does! But…” she tailed off, shaking her head.

“But?” he prompted.

“But, the thing is it doesn’t make a difference. If she doesn’t feel the same, it’ll be the death of… well, whatever we have now. Maybe I’m selfish, but I don’t want it to just _end_ , Ñolvo. Not like this, not so soon. Yet I know it must, if she does not feel the same way as I…”

“And what if she _does_ feel the same?”

The question caught her off guard. Lalwen felt her face seem to freeze to marble, hard but brittle, as she thought about it. "Then… then it will only tear her apart, upset her. She has a duty to her people, she cannot leave them, give up her position to be by my side. They need her, I see that now, and she needs to uphold the position of her house, to do honour to her father’s memory. If she does not she will never forgive herself.”

“You could go with her. Have you considered that?”

Lalwen raised her eyebrow, her mouth twisting in an ironic smile. “I had not thought that you would suffer the stain on the honour of the house of Finwë if your own sister simply… threw it all over and flew off to live as the untitled lady in waiting of a Sindarin ruler.”

He sighed in exasperation. "Lalwendë, must you make me the villain here? Yes, once I might have counselled you to stay. But I can see how much you want this, how much you love her. Do you think I _like_ seeing you in pain?”

“No” said Lalwen, dropping her gaze, slightly ashamed. “No, I’m sorry brother, I didn’t meant to suggest - ”

“Lalwendë, it’s alright. You don’t need to apologise.”

She met his gaze, taking both his hands in her own. “Besides, the real reason is that you need me, Ñolvo. Haven’t we come so far together? If you are to be a lord under our nephew’s kingship - ”

“Well, we still don’t know what the future holds on that count. Maitimo’s condition…” he tailed off shaking his head. “Finno has hope, but really there’s no way of knowing…”

“It doesn’t matter though, not for this. Whichever son of Fëanáro is king, whatever the alliance we form looks like, know that I will be at your side, defending these lands against the North.” She smiled ruefully. “If possible, I would have us put our fortifications where we can defend the Mithrim villages, as I doubt the sons of Fëanáro will spare more than a thought for them…”

He grasped her hands in return. “Lalwendë, I don’t want you to feel like you must stay at my side…”

“But I must” she said simply. “Mother would want us to stay together, protecting each other. Father too, and are we not here to avenge his killing anyway?”

“Yes” he said. “You’re right. Well, I see you’ve made up your mind, anyway.”

She laughed bitterly at that. “Oh, the farthest thing from it. Have you forgotten the original problem?”

“Ah yes, whether to tell Elenniel how you really feel. So, let me list your options.”

She gave an affectionate sigh of exasperation. “Ñolofinwë…”

“It’ll help, trust me! First, if you do tell her, and she does not feel as strongly, then the two of you will drift apart. Or else, if you do tell her, and she does return your love, then you will have joy but also pain, for you and for her, as you must be parted soon.” She was about to speak, but he held up a finger, a signal to wait. “Lalwendë, have you considered the other case?”

“What other case?”

“What will happen if you _don’t_ tell her.”

“Oh. That case.” She looked at him for a long time, many expressions passing over her face. Then she sighed. “If I don’t tell her anything” she said quietly, “then this will end, and Elenniel and I will part ways, once Maitimo is healed and assumes the crown, and we have agreed the settlement of lands with the sons of Fëanáro. We will part, and perhaps we will see one another at great councils and feasts, two ladies of different peoples who know each other socially. But it will not be the same. _We_ will not be the same, and any love that may have existed between us will be nothing but fading shadows, vanishing with the years as we grow apart. She might even…” she looked agonised. “She might even meet someone else… Ñolvo, she might be compelled to marry, to secure an alliance and to produce heirs to give strength to her rule.” She had gritted her teeth, clutching both of his hands very tightly, she realised. She forced herself to let go, to relax her stance. “Ñolofinwë…” she said softly, shaking her head, even as tears started in her eyes. “I can't… how will I stand it?”

He didn’t answer, because there _was_ no easy answer; this she knew. Instead, he opened his arms and she went to them, letting her brother hold her close to his chest, her head on his shoulder. He stroked the back of her hair as he had when they were children and she had fallen down, or woken from a nightmare, or any of the other little pains that had caused the girl she had once been to go running for her big brother and the reassurance that he could always seem to bring, no matter what. Later, on the Helcaraxë, they had held each other up, their determination - so single-minded in the eyes of their people, an impression held up by necessity and sheer force of will - tempered each by the other, propped up when it faltered.

They had always known they would have to support each other, a promise they had made right at the beginning.

And they had come this far, after all. They had come through blood and battle and the terrible, crushing cold, and brought their people through it as best they could. And they had done it together.

This, though, Lalwen thought as her brother held her in his arms. This was something she had to do alone in the end. But even if she stumbled, even if she ruined her chance to be with the one she loved, then Ñolofinwë would still be there. He would always be there to heal the hurts and help her to keep on going, just as he did for the whole host.

She sighed, standing up straight and drawing away from him. “You know, Ñolvo” she said. “I…. I think you’re right.”

“What?”

“I think it’s time I realised that for me it was never really a choice in the first place.”

His smile was gentle and warm, as she had known it would be. “I’m glad to hear it.”

* * *

Elenniel was pacing, twisting her hands before her in uncharacteristic agitation as Lalwen watched. “The clans just won’t _agree_ with each other, that’s the problem, and I can’t get them to _listen_ to me.”

“But you are their queen, by every practical definition of the word” said Lalwen. “Surely the lords and ladies who did homage to your father should bow before his heir. If not, you are within your right to have them punished, or simply remove your protection over them - ”

Elenniel was shaking her head. “If only it were that simple. Our people aren’t like yours, Lalwen, we don’t have a single ruler who holds supreme power like the Golodhrim do.”

Lalwen snorted. “Well, at the moment it’s more complicated for us too, actually.”

Elenniel smiled ruefully. “True. But at least when your nephew takes up his crown again, then the debate will end. The crown will be assumed to pass to his heirs, by the same right that it was passed down from his father.”

“Don’t let my brother hear you talking like that. It’s practically treason.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. The point is, there is no inherent reason that they should listen to me. They followed my father, yes, but he is dead…”

“His blood flows in your veins!”

“Yes. But the northern clans care less about what blood flows _in_ their leader’s veins, and more about whether that leader can stop their blood flowing _out_ of them. For all blood looks the same once it’s spilled by an orc scimitar, I am afraid.”

Lalwen grimaced. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“Yes, well…” Elenniel looked a little aggrieved. “The point is, they want a leader who is proven, in battle and in strength. They want a leader they know and trust, who can protect them.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t exactly help my cause that my father died in the rout of our village. I fear, Lalwen…” she let Lalwen take her hands, which were cold, and try to warm them in her own. “I fear that there will be war amongst the clans again, and that your people’s presence will only make it worse, in trying to make it better.”

She held Elenniel’s hands in her own, wishing she could help. “El, would you not reconsider my offer…? If they are to fight amongst themselves, let them, for you know you always have a place with me… a place at court, where you will be safe. I know it’s not your own people, but if those people decide to turn against you…”

Elenniel looked away, hiding her face from Lalwen with a sigh. “Must you draw it out, Lalwen? I’ve already told you, I cannot leave them. I owe it to the memory of my father, my mother, and to all my people…”

Lalwen nodded resignedly. “Alright, that at least I can understand. But it doesn’t have to be forever, you know that, don’t you? After… after things have settled down, you could leave the leadership of the clans to Galineth, could you not? She is your blood, she is your heir, and when she is old enough to rule - ”

“Then I still would not place that burden upon her shoulders, even if the situation was less precarious” said Elenniel firmly. “Not unless she wanted it, and could unite them. She is a child, and she would do anything for me, her big sister, would promise me anything…” she wrung her hands regretfully once more, “…but I would not put her anywhere near the duties of ruling until she has had a childhood, such as she can in these times, until she has completed the education she has so taken to from your Golodhrim scholars.”

“That’s all very well” said Lalwen, frowning. “But I know you don’t want this.” She touched Elenniel’s cheek, very gently. “I know you don’t want to rule them. That’s never something you’ve wanted.” She hesitated, as Elenniel looked back at her with wide, surprised eyes. “I’m right, aren’t I? Leave the fools to fight amongst themselves. You’re better than they are.”

For a moment Elenniel carried on staring at her. Then her face twisted, and, much to Lalwen’s surprise, she laughed. It was a bitter, harsh sound, so unlike Elenniel’s usual gentle laugh that Lalwen loved so well. "You know _nothing_ of what you speak” said Elenniel, her voice brittle, as she pulled her hands away from Lalwen’s, turning her face to one side in a sweep of silver hair. “Whether I want to rule or not…” she shook her head a little. “What difference does it make whether I want to rule for its own sake, or for the pride of my house, of my father’s legacy?” Her voice grew cold, filling Lalwen with a chill to match. “And why, more to the point, do _you_ think you can advise me on it, coming across the sea and professing to know all about this land and how its people should rule themselves?”

“No, El, I didn’t mean - ”

“You amuse yourself playing with the heart of a young ruler of a people that you obviously see as so beneath you…” there were tears in her eyes, now; Elenniel never had been good at showing anger without tears, as she had confided to Lalwen once in the dark of the night as they lay in bed together, as Lalwen herself had spoken her fears into the darkness. “…And in the same breath you treat me like a child, and you don’t even bother to understand my point of view, or the ways of my people?”

“I… Elenniel, I didn’t think…”

“No, you certainly didn’t, did you. Did you know that it was your people coming over the sea that brought the orcs out of Angband once more?”

“N-No…”

“Of course you didn’t. It’s true though. It was only the occasional little raid before that, but now our villages lie burned. And yet here I am, with you, and you tell me to abandon the duty my father left to me?” Elenniel turned her face away, but not before Lalwen had seen the blush rising high and pink on her cheeks. She pulled her wrist away too quickly as Lalwen tried to gently pull her back. Lalwen let her go, her hands feeling too empty nonetheless as soon as Elenniel had reached the door. Lalwen expected her to turn away without another word, but instead Elenniel raised her head, meeting her eye. "I’m sorry” she said. “But I can't… I mean… I can’t talk of this. Not now.”

And with that she swept out of the door, leaving Lalwen standing there with the ghosts of the words that had passed between them - and the ghosts of the ones she hadn’t said - rattling in her head as the lakeshore winds whistled mournfully through the chimney piece.

* * *

“….I was going to ask you how it went, but….” her brother sat down tentatively beside her on the other stool by the fireplace, as Lalwen hunched forward staring into the flames. He laid a hand at the small of her back. “Lalwendë, what happened?”

She raised her eyes to meet his. “I don’t deserve her, Ñolvo.”

“What? Don’t be silly, of course you - ”

“No. I… the way I’ve been acting, like I know best…”

“What are you talking about?”

Lalwen clenched her fists. “It’s our damn _people_ , Ñolvo. We’re so… so set in the idea that our way is better, that we can change this place for the better…”

“Well, we did come here to defeat Moringotto, and if that’s not changing things for the better, then I don’t know - ”

“Not that. I mean, we think these people need saving, and maybe they do from _him_ , but…” she shook her head, before letting it drop into her hands. “Ah… she was right, Ñolvo. I do treat her like a child, I never even bothered to learn about her people and their history before trying to get her to abandon it all for me. Who am I to put such a choice on her? Who am I to think think she would ever choose me? I must be so…” she pulled her hands away from her face, picking up the iron poker and stabbing angrily at the glowing embers of the fire in the grate, causing them to flare and flicker with sparks once more. “Ugh, I’m so _stupid_.”

He sighed. “I suppose asking her to just… leave it all behind would be a little insulting.”

“A little? Imagine if someone asked you to leave behind all our people, Ñolvo, right after father had died.”

He blinked. “Well, of course I would say no… but Lalwendë, that’s different…”

But she was shaking her head. “ _No_ , Ñolvo. No, it’s not different.” She shook her head, balling her hands into fists once more. “I’m so… I’m such an idiot.”

He took the poker from her, stirring the embers with a sigh before adding another log from the basket. They both watched in silence for a while, as flames licked its sides. “What are you going to do now, then?” he asked eventually.

She looked at him in disbelief. “Well, there’s not much I can do, is there?”

“You’re not going to do anything then. You’re going to let her go.”

“I…” she was silent for a moment. “I don’t think she’ll want me back, after that.”

“Lalwendë, all people who love each other argue. Then they talk it through, work it out. Because like I just said, they love each other, and want to stay together.”

“I know that” she snapped. “I’m not an idiot, Ñolvo.”

“You just called yourself one enough times.”

She gritted her teeth in annoyance. “….Alright fine. But there’s still the fact that Elenniel has to remain here with her people, and I have to go to our new lands with you.”

“Again, I’m not letting you put this on me. Go where your heart and your head would have you go.”

She glared at him. “That’s really not very helpful.”

He rolled his eyes. “Look, Lalwendë. Remember what you told me? That if you didn’t take this chance, you’d regret it?”

“Well, I don’t think those were _precisely_ the words I used, but - ”

“Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, things will change around Mithrim. The sons of Fëanáro will come to take Maitimo across the lake. And you… you have a choice to make.” He caught her chin in his hand, making her meet his eyes. “Mind you make one that you can live in peace with, hmm?”

* * *

The next day dawned cold and grey, like almost every other day on this misty shore, the waters of the lake like dark steel. Lalwen knew that her nephews were coming today, and she had resigned herself to act civilly towards them, little though she felt the inclination to currently. Her brother, she knew, was in a last informal private conference with Maitimo, who was due to cross the lake later in the day, and Findekáno, who practically never left his cousin’s side. She smiled, ruefully at that; she was glad, at least, in all of this, that a little warmth had crept back into Findekáno’s heart. And seeing Maitimo recover day by day had given her hope for all their people, especially these last weeks when he had been well enough even to be able to leave his room.

Still, she felt little desire to be present at that meeting. Instead, she wrapped herself in her thick cloak and pulled on her boots, slipping out in the early morning half-light to walk along the stony shoreline, the only others the dim figures of the night guards changing to the day guards in the cold mist of dawn.

The damp fog chilled her skin, beading in her hair and showing each breath before her, gusting out in damp clouds. She had grown to hate the cold, as they all had, on the endless march through the frozen wasteland of the Helcaraxë. But now, she simply could not bear to be inside, sleep having proven elusive since the very early hours of the morning, leaving her alone in the dark with her thoughts.

At last the light brightened to full day, burning away much of the fog that hung over the lake; at least enough that she could see the rowboats crossing the water before they reached the jetties on this side. The sons of Fëanáro looked much as they always had, but today she couldn’t even find it in her heart to feel much in the way of the usual anger the mere thought of them sparked in her. She watched listlessly as the guards let them through the gates of the  compound by the lakeside, where the house of Ñolofinwë had their lodgings. She was just wondering whether she ought to return to her brother’s side in his impromptu meeting with the sons of Fëanáro, and was just at the gate, when she heard a commotion coming from the direction her half-nephews had gone in.

Rolling her eyes, she wrapped her cloak more tightly about herself and quickened her pace, only to nearly collide with someone coming the other way through the door.

Lalwen blinked, her hurried apology dying on her lips as she met those very familiar eyes, widened in surprise, her heart contracting despite herself. “Elenniel…”

“I…” Elenniel was looking at her with a strange expression on her face, that Lalwen could not quite identify, as she stood just on the threshold, the two of them brought close together by the narrowness of the vestibule to the council room. Funny, thought Lalwen, how the two of them could spend the last few years falling in bed together, their lives and hearts intertwining all the more each day since the moment they had first met, and yet now after the previous day being within a confined space together could be so _awkward_. There was really no other word for it. To her annoyance, she felt herself blushing as she had not done since she was a young girl in Tirion, hopelessly smitten with one of the older daughters of one of her father’s courtiers and yet unable to say anything of it. Lalwen had thought she had changed since then, had thought the Ice and everything else had happened had hardened her heart far beyond the matter of blushing.

Well, apparently it had only hardened her heart in some places, and where this bright-haired, willow-slip of a Sindarin girl was concerned, not at all.

Elenniel’s questioning gaze brought her back to the present. She was not angry, decided Lalwen, which was encouraging at least. She also did not look entirely happy, but rather like her mind was far away, chasing some half-formed notion in that way she had. She looked distracted, and Lalwen tilted her head, gazing for the first time past Elenniel, at the closed door through which she had just exited the council room.

“El, what…”

“You’ll see in a moment” said Elenniel. “I… I have to go gather my people…” Lalwen’s heart sank at that, and at how Elenniel edged away from her on quick feet, but something hopeful twisted in her chest again when Elenniel caught her wrist as she made to turn away.

“What?”

“Something has… transpired” said Elenniel carefully, darting a quick look back at the door. “You’ll find out very soon, from your brother, probably. But there’s a possibility that… if I can get this right…”

Elenniel’s eyes were far away as she tailed off, and Lalwen was none the wiser.

“Elenniel, whatever has happened, I can help, I can…”

“It’s nothing bad!” Elenniel assured her hastily. She took a deep breath. “I… I really want you to know that…” her voice cracked a little. “I’m not angry at you. But… can we speak of it later, Lalwen? I promise I’m not brushing you off, I just… I need to speak to my lords and ladies. Hopefully after that… things will be better.“ She laid a tentative hand on Lalwen’s shoulder. "For both of us.”

Lalwen nodded, still confused, and Elenniel gave a her a shy, brushing kiss on the cheek, and swept out of the narrow corridor in a swirl of cloth and unbound, bright hair, leaving Lalwen touching the place where her lips had touched her skin in mild disbelief.

Not angry? Could it really be true? And what had Elenniel meant by that?

She was just about to knock on the door once more when it burst open.

“Ñolvo?” she peered over his shoulder, at the sons of Fëanáro and Findekáno, who were having what sounded like a heated conversation still. “I’m sorry I’m late. Could you please explain to me what in the world is going on?“

"Lalwendë” said her brother, taking her hands in his own. His face was different than she had seen it in so long, as though lit from within by something bright. _Was that… hope?_ Whatever it was, it was mixed with a good amount of shock and disbelief, she thought.

“Lalwendë” he said again, taking a deep breath. “I’ve just had a discussion with Maitimo. He… made an announcement to his brothers. And to me.”

“What? Tell me, Ñolofinwë.”

“Maitimo has decided… to give up the crown.”

Her eyes widened, in horror. “No! I hate to say it, but Maitimo’s the only one that can keep his brothers under control. If it’s anyone but him ruling the other host… if it’s any of the younger ones, they won’t last long. Even Macalaurë… well, the One knows he’s not much for ruling. And whatever scraps of an alliance hold the Ñoldor together will fall apart even faster…” but she tailed off as she saw him shaking his head. “No?”

“No” he said, a small smile curving his lips. “No, he’s not giving up the crown to Macalaurë. Or… any of his brothers.”

She stared at him, realisation dawning. “You don’t mean…”

He nodded, smiling in what seemed almost like disbelief.

She punched his arm lightly. “Damn it, Ñolvo, you’re going to be king!” She almost felt a laugh escape her, a sharp, nervous one made of pure excitement for just a second. Then she sobered once more, gripping his hands tighter in hers as she looked doubtfully at the door behind him, where she could still hear the raised voices of the sons of Fëanáro, though some of them seemed to have subsided into muttering now. “What does this mean though?”

“It means that the Ñoldor will be united” he said, something flaring behind his eyes once more. “Or we should be able to hold our people together, at least. Findekáno and I will meet with Fëanáro’s sons several more times, more formally, to agree terms and divide out the lands. But we _should_ be able to reach an agreement that is beneficial for all of us.” He smiled testily. “ “ _Healing the feud”_ was the way Findekáno put it, that so irritated Curufinwë. I perhaps wouldn’t have used _quite_ those words…” he shook his head. “But who am I to fault my son when _this_ was the result?”

She smiled, looking in to the room just in time to see Findekáno rounding on an irate-looking Carnistir. Findekáno was clasping Maitimo’s hand defensively in his own and drawing close to him. “Bless those two. The One knows, they need and deserve it.”

“Mmm” he said, thoughtfully, his gaze directed now out of the window. He looked at Lalwen suddenly. “Lalwendë, did you by any chance encounter Elenniel, just now?”

She nodded, frowning. “She said she was going to talk to her council, now.”

He nodded, approvingly. “This… this changes things with our relations with the Sindar, you realise.”

“It does?” She blinked, thinking. With the Ñoldor as a united front, a true force to be reckoned with in the battle against Morgoth and a power that could truly hold its own against him… “yes, I suppose it does. You mean to suggest an alliance?” _But what if the clans couldn’t agree? Even if that was what Elenniel wanted for her people, then there was no reason to assume that they would see the sense in this and bow to her will_ … a chill ran through Lalwen as she realised that the possibility of civil war was by not gone, nor was it by any means limited to their own fractious and divided people.

“That was the general idea” said Ñolofinwë. “And it would be beneficial to all of us. So I will fight my hardest to secure one.”

She nodded. “And as always, I’ll be at your side.”

* * *

Elenniel looked out along the rough trestle table of undressed pine that served the new, temporary council room in their people’s sector of the camp. The nine other clan heads were all grouped about it, though it could have seated many more. Wrapped in heavy furs - as their breath misted in the cold air in the council room - they all looked at her expectantly.

Though not without, in some cases, a certain level of distrustful scepticism, she noted. At her right hand sat Galineth, her rightful position as heir apparent to the High-Ladyship that Elenniel held. Her sister was quiet and wary today, and Elenniel could sympathise; the mood in here was beset with a chill that had nothing to do with the cold that made their breath steam in the air, despite the fire in the hearth that did little to warm the whole hall adequately.

“My friends” began Elenniel, her voice cracking a little in the cold. She cleared her throat and began again. Her unexpected meeting with Lalwen had unsettled her, but she was determined not to let it throw her entirely; this was too important. She gritted her teeth. “I’ve called you here, as I’m sure you have already realised, because the situation has changed. The Golodhrim princes have healed the divisions between their two houses, and stand united as one front. Or they will once King Fingolfin is crowned.”

“What of it?” asked Sûlinendis, narrowing her eyes. “What does that have to do with our people?”

“As I was about to explain” said Elenniel calmly, surety in her plan spurring her on, “I think that this is an opportunity that our people must seize if we possibly can.”

Glírendil cocked his head. “What would you have us do?”

She drew herself up taller. This was it. This was her chance to persuade them, to _unite_ them. “The Golodhrim, under King Fingolfin, will stand as one people” said Elenniel. “They have healed all divisions between themselves, and even now the envoys from the Fëanorian camp sit and drink mead with Fingolfin’s own family, discussing plans for a line of fortification that will run from from the sea to the mountains in the east. That would have been unthinkable even several weeks ago, but it’s happened. Now they’ll be sending people to Círdan at the Havens - our old ally, a friend of my father, I might remind you - asking him to join their leaguer, to make it stronger.”

“My Lady Elenniel, are you suggesting” said Caradhrod, “that we too make ourselves part of this leaguer? We, who barely saved ourselves as our homes were burned by the orcs that the Golodhrim stirred into wrath and plunder?” Their was thunder in his eyes, and dissension just below the surface, ready to manifest itself as outright rebellion at her slightest misstep, she knew. She looked around at the others, trying not to reveal her calculation as she looked on each face. If a schism in the council came, who would side with her? And who would stand against her?

She mastered her thoughts, looking Caradhrod in the eye. “No” said Elenniel, levelly. “I’m not suggesting that. In fact, that would not be going far enough.”

He blinked, even as whispers ran all around the table. “What? My Lady, are you - ”

“I am suggesting” said Elenniel, “that, yes, we do our part to uphold the leaguer. In return for the shelter they have given us, as honour demands. But I am not suggesting that it be a matter of a transaction with the Golodhrim. No; we should join our people with theirs. Let there be no division between us: we will mix our people, learn their language even as they learn ours. We will serve in their court and fight in their armies and they will learn of this land from us, and we will all be stronger for it. And, while we’re at it…” she couldn’t resist a smile. “I would have the clans dispersed, the culture of fighting amongst ourselves consigned to history, to an age where we had the luxury to war amongst each other over petty land squabbles.” 

She raised a hand to silence the collective intake of breath that had run around the room at her words. “In my father’s time, yes, we upheld the boundaries between our clans, we kept to our own lands, and each village and farmstead had its own songs and its own woollen weave. Now, our wood flutes and our looms are broken, our sheep stolen and slaughtered, our hills burned by the orcs. Whether we like it or not - and the stars know, I do not - the world has changed. Whoever is at fault for it - and is it not the Dark One, in the end, rather than the Golodhrim whom he hunts? - we cannot simply remain as we were, rebuilding our villages only to have them burned again, and over and over until we are all dead, our songs gone from this world. We will simply not be _safe_ if we stay outside the Golodhrim-Falathrim leaguer. And if we move inside it, and do not help to uphold it, we will be cowards indeed, will we not?”

There was a murmur of mingled agreement and protest, but she silenced it once more.

“So, I propose another way. Join the Golodhrim as they build their new strongholds. Let us take a lesson from them. Marry our peoples together. Become one, the free peoples of this land. Stand united against the threat of the North, the better to survive. What say you?”

For a moment there was complete silence. Then clamour erupted, several people standing up, one or two even striking the table top with gloved fists or the hilts of knives.

Elenniel stood watching it, trying to keep her face studiously blank and impassive, despite the growing anxiety within her; what if she could not convince them? What if she had simply doomed herself with her words?

“ _Quiet!_ ”

She turned in alarm at the great shout that echoed in the rafters, to see Galineth standing up on her chair, hands on her hips, a thunderous expression on her face. “How rude, to interrupt your High Lady” said Galineth primly, once a stunned silence had fallen. She sat down in her seat, nodding in her direction. “Elenniel, please do go on.”

Elenniel smiled. “Thank you.” She surveyed the room, all eyes once again trained on her. “So, I ask again. What say you? Do we forsake the ones who have saved us, to try our luck in the orc-infested wilds, fighting amongst ourselves and against the harsh, ash-blasted climes that those lands have become? Or do we stand with the Golodhrim, joining our people to theirs and drawing swords together?”

“You would have us bow before this foreign King Fingolfin?”

Elenniel held the gaze of Huinduilon, who had spoken. “If that’s what it takes to save us” she said. “Then yes. Yes I would.” She tilted her head. “But I know something of Fingolfin, from what I have seen these last years. Even before he had the legitimate rule over all his people, he was keeping them safe. We can wish for no better.”

Murmurs ran around once more; was it her imagination, or was the air less cold now? “But what is to become of the spirit of our people?” asked Eilingol, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “Our history, now our written records are lost and burned. The Golodhrim have many wondrous crafts and songs, but they have brought strange beliefs from across the sea. Are we to let them compel us to worship these Valar unquestioningly, as they do?”

Elenniel had to restrain a snort at that, thinking of Lalwen and her unconcealed derision for the Valar and their actions. “I would not say they worship the Valar unquestioningly” she said, suppressing a smile. “And songs? Histories?” She shook her head. “I ask you, Eilingol, how are such things preserved?”

“Well, by writing them down, of course, or by the weaving of songs, the repetition of the festivals over long slow years…”

“Exactly” said Elenniel, nodding. “And constant war makes a poor way to preserve them, does it not? We cannot make songs if we are dying upon the sword, or pinched with hunger in the dustlands of the cold north. And a poor sort of festival it would be if collecting too many people in one place was inviting an attack by orcs, and risking losing too many families, too many children.” She shook her head. “Only security - freedom - will help us rebuild our people. When my father was High Lord, there was less need for it, true, but now it is _vital._ Though we will lose the structure of our clans, and yes, I will give up my position… that is a sacrifice that I for one am willing to make.”

Another murmur, this time of wonder. “You would give up the position your father held onto to pass down to you?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes” she said. “Yes, I would. I would happily live out the rest of my days as a lady of the court of Fingolfin, while the people my father ruled over thrived and flourished, rather than see them all slain while I clung to the position with all the strength that remained to me until they came for me too.” She smiled wryly. “Does that sufficiently convince you that I am not proposing this for reasons of personal ambition?”

But Vaelin was apparently not satisfied. “Ha! Fine rhetoric, but everyone knows the truth…the Golodhrim witch - the king’s sister - has ensnared you, drawing you into her bed and chaining down our people!”

She found her heart clenched at the mere mention of Lalwen. “Well, Vaelin, I thought you better than to be swayed by the idle gossip of the stables and the kitchens” said Elenniel. “But yes, I must confess that Lady Lalwen and I have been… _involved_ for some time now. Though I _would_ like to dispel the rumour that she is a witch, unless of course she had been hiding that extremely well indeed.” A little flutter of grudging laughter from the listening lords and ladies. “But it changes nothing. Besides, I prefer to think of it more as the first alliance of many happy and mutually satisfying ones between our people to come. Does that please you?”

Vaelin seemed about to protest, but Sûlinendis spoke first. “You are young, Lady Elenniel” she said. “I confess, at first I thought you a frail thing, a pallid copy of your father, your head filled only with songs and dreams. But I see you have held your own admirably amongst the Golodhrim, and you have not failed us so far. You have my support.”

Elenniel bowed her head, in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Lady Sûlinendis.” She looked up at the others. “So. Once more… what say you?”

A short silence, that nevertheless seemed to stretch forever.

Then… “Aye!”

“Aye!”

“I am with you!”

“I will follow you, Lady Elenniel!”

Galineth caught her eye then, and they both smiled as Elenniel’s heart soared to the rafters with the sound of many voices.

* * *

“Lalwen.”

Lalwen looked sharply up from her writing desk as Elenniel came to the door, which had been left open a little. She stood there slightly at a loss, poised on the edge of stepping over the threshold. At sight of Elenniel, though, Lalwen stood up sharply, summarily hitting her knee on the corner of her desk and cursing loudly.

Elenniel could not help but giggle, a pain going through her as she realised how much she had missed Lalwen. Why had she even been angry? She felt so light now, and besides, what had gone between them barely seemed to matter anymore; a little thing, in light of how the world had shifted in so short a time.

“El! You’re…” Lalwen tailed off, her face filled with doubt. She looked a little wary, Elenniel thought. “You’re here with your counsel, to meet with my brother and the sons of Fëanor, to finalise our alliance?”

Elenniel nodded. “There’s no point in delaying, it seems to me. Best to get it done before the coronation too, so we can all start off on the same footing.” _But I wanted to see you first._

Lalwen nodded. “I agree.” She hesitated once more. “I… I was told what you said. What you decided.”

Elenniel smiled, still hanging back from entering the room. “I meant to tell you the news myself, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be…” Lalwen was still scrutinising her, a calculating look on her face, though a tentative smile edged onto her lips now, Elenniel thought. She really was very beautiful, with her dark hair unspooling down over one shoulder in a loose braid, over the gentle violet woollen dress she was wearing, soft and warm. “Have you come to lay out terms to me?”

Elenniel took a single step into the room. “…I was rather thinking that could wait until the meeting with your brother. You… you are going to be there aren’t you?”

Lalwen smiled. “Why, of course. I can’t wait to secure the details of our… alliance.”

For a moment they held each other’s gaze.

“Elenniel…”

“Lalwen…”

Elenniel felt herself blush as they interrupted each other.

“You first” said Lalwen.

Elenniel’s mind went blank. “I… came to see you” she said, rather lamely.

“Well, yes, I can see that” said Lalwen. She paused. “What I said before… you know how sorry I am, don’t you? You know that I believe in you and will support you in everything you choose, and will never - ”

“Lalwen.”

“…Yes?”

“There’s really nothing to be sorry for. It’s past. I was upset, but…” she shrugged. “Everything is better now.”

Lalwen seemed to fairly glow, her eyes glistening suddenly with tears. “Really?”

“I promise.”

And after hardly another moment, they were in each others’ arms, meeting in the middle of the room and spinning around in a tight hug. After a moment, Lalwen drew back and looked up into Elenniel’s face, cupping her cheek. “You’re not…” she looked troubled. “You’re really not still angry at me, are you El? I don’t want you to be afraid that you will be made to leave anything of your people behind with this, or become just another pandering courtier, or be dispossessed, or - ”

“Lalwen. I _chose_ this. This is for the best, I can feel it.”

Lalwen nodded. “I… I know, I just find it… hard to believe. I’ll come around soon enough!” She reassured hastily, as Elenniel made to roll her eyes. “But then again it’s no surprise…” Lalwen’s fingers ran through her hair. “You’re so much braver than I am.”

Elenniel snorted. “Says the one who crossed the Ice.”

“And that was even without the knowledge that you were on the other side!” Lalwen laughed. “Think what I could do if I knew you were waiting for me!”

“Stars forbid. And I was thinking the Golodhrim were supposed to be wise…”

“Oh, hush with that. You know very well that _you’re_ the one keeping me from talking sense. Come here.”

Elenniel closed the distance between them eagerly. Lalwen’s laughter made her heart leap once more as their noses bumps together clumsily and their parted lips met, joyful tears on both their cheeks and fingers tangling in each other’s hair.

“The future will be better for us both” said Lalwen, as they broke apart, their faces still close together, arms looped about each other so that their foreheads touched. “I don’t know what it holds but… it will be better. I’m certain of it.”

Elenniel smiled, whispering against Lalwen’s lips. “I’m sure you’re right.” She licked her lips, suddenly inexplicably nervous. “Lalwen, I… I love you, you know.” She felt herself turning embarrassingly pink, her face heating up; _what a foolish, flustered state for the proud lady of her house, upholder of her people’s trust, to have gotten herself into_. “I should have told you before, but I… _what_?” she broke off, realising that Lalwen was laughing all over again, though not unkindly, fingers carding adoringly through her hair.

“N-Nothing, it’s just… I love you too, of course, more than I can possibly say in words. Please, Elenniel…” Lalwen clasped her hand in both of her own. “Let’s watch this new world take shape at each other’s sides?”

Elenniel clasped Lalwen’s hand back, tightly. “I’m not going anywhere if you’re not.”


End file.
